The pantheon was vast, its wilderness unending. While Oceanus shaped the seas and Hyperion blazed across molten mountains, four more Titans carved their trials into the bones of the world.
Crius – The Constellation's Forge
Crius climbed to the highest peaks, where the air was thin and sharp, and the stars stretched unbroken. His constellation-mark pulsed faintly, stars shimmering above, faint but insistent.
The sky was not silent. Winged beasts circled—griffons with talons like spears, bats with wings wide enough to blot the moon. Their screeches split the night as they dove, claws raking the stone.
Crius raised his gaze. The stars answered.
Lines of silver light stretched between them, aligning into chains and spears. Constellations bent into weapons. He swung them wide, stars lashing into the beasts. Wings cracked. Feathers burned. Screams echoed down the mountains.
But the more he forced the stars, the more unstable they became. Constellations broke apart, scattering into chaos. His chains frayed, spears cracked, crowns shattered. A griffon lunged through the collapse, talons grazing his throat.
Crius staggered, fury burning. The stars are mine. Why do they defy me?
Then he saw them—not just as weapons, but as maps. They guided sailors. They marked time. They gave direction.
He breathed steady. The stars calmed. They bent into a crown above his head, steady, unyielding. When he raised his hand, the constellations obeyed as one.
Chains struck true. The griffon dissolved into stardust.
Crius stood tall, the crown blazing.
The sky is chaos. I will shape it into order.
Themis – The Scales of Judgment
Themis walked forests where spirits whispered endlessly. Some begged. Some cursed. Some wept. All sought her judgment.
Her scales pulsed faint gold. Each spirit that came fell into its weight.
The first was a thief, his soul dripping with greed. The scales tilted sharply. Ash swallowed him whole.
The second was a mother who killed to protect her children. The scales trembled, wavering. Themis' heart wavered with them. But at last they steadied, tilting lightly to mercy. The spirit dissolved, curse lifted.
One by one, the forest tested her. Her scales grew heavier, her chest burned, her arms ached as though she bore mountains. She stumbled, knees buckling.
How can I weigh the world when I cannot even bear its smallest fragments?
But the scales pulsed, whispering truth. Justice was not ease. It was endurance.
Themis forced her knees straight. She raised her scales high. Gold blazed through the forest. Spirits wailed, their curses torn away.
Her arms trembled, but she did not falter.
Justice is heavy. And I will bear it.
Iapetus – The Fortress of Fury
Iapetus roamed mountains filled with stone giants. They lumbered with fists of boulders, their roars shaking cliffs loose.
He charged headlong. His fists crashed into stone, shattering it. His gauntlets cracked skulls, splitting giants into rubble. He roared with every strike, his fortress rising behind him with each battle.
But the more he fought, the more the fortress cracked. His rage carved scars into its walls. Towers crumbled, gates groaned. His fury was building him, but also breaking him.
He fell to one knee, panting, his fists raw with blood.
If my rage is all I am, I will destroy myself before I destroy my enemies.
The fortress loomed cracked but standing. Its scars did not weaken it. They proved it had endured.
Iapetus rose again, slower, steadier. His fists struck with purpose, not frenzy. Each blow was a hammer shaping stone, not just breaking it.
The giants fell. His fortress grew, scarred but unyielding.
Rage is not ruin. Rage is strength to protect.
Coeus – The Scrolls of Madness
Coeus descended into ruins where scrolls and tablets littered the floor. They glowed faintly, voices whispering promises of power.
He read one. His mind split with visions of fire and collapse. He read another. Its words melted into screams.
The more he read, the more his thoughts frayed. His emblem blazed, scrolls unraveling endlessly in his mind. He clutched his skull, teeth grinding.
If I drown in this flood, I am nothing.
Gaia's words returned: "Your realms are burdens."
He forced himself to breathe. One scroll at a time. One line at a time.
The whispers dulled. He ordered the chaos into flow. Scrolls aligned. Words steadied. Knowledge stopped screaming—it spoke.
When he opened his eyes, the ruins no longer bled madness. They whispered secrets.
Coeus stood tall, scrolls orbiting him like stars.
Knowledge is not chaos. It is power, shaped by will.
The Threads of Resolve
Across the pantheon, the Titans bled, fought, and grew. Seas bent. Flames steadied. Moons endured. Tides pulsed. Memories sharpened. Stars aligned. Scales bore weight. Fortresses stood. Scrolls whispered truth.
Each trial carved them sharper. Each failure hardened them.
In the void, Chronos stirred.
He sat cross-legged beneath the pendulum, silver sands swirling. His breath was steady, his body scarred but unbroken. In meditation, faint threads shimmered.
He felt them.
Oceanus' tide swelling. Hyperion's steady blaze. Phoebe's silver calm. Tethys' rhythm. Mnemosyne's burning memory. Crius' aligned stars. Themis' scales, heavy but firm. Iapetus' scarred fortress. Coeus' whispering scrolls.
They were distant, yet bound.
Chronos opened his eyes, silver light glowing faintly. For the first time in months, he smiled.
We are apart, but we are one. Eight years will not break us.
The pendulum tolled, shaking the void, and the sands stirred as if in answer.